Michel Vaillant and the mystery of the napkin
by ievandie
Summary: COMPLETED During a short holiday Michel Vaillant starts a guess-the-circuit-game with an unknown adversary. Little does he know that this adversary will cause serious problems for his changes in the formula one championship.
1. The challenge on the napkin

Michel Vaillant is a comic book character from the comic books of Jean Graton. Steve Warson, Gabrielle Spangenberg, the whole Vaillant family, personnel and the members of team Leader are all Jean Graton's. There is also a Michel Vaillant movie.

So I own the story-line although, reading the comic books it turned out that Jean Graton had thought of some same events.

Feedback is greatly appreciated

(if only to let me know you read it)

**Michel Vaillant – The mystery of the napkin**

_The challenge on the napkin (the title is a tribute to MV comic title nr. 50: Le défi des ramparts)_

Michel Vaillant, holder of five world championship titles in Formula 1, winner of the 24 hours of Le Mans for an equal number of times and victor of numerous rallies, among which a Paris-Dakar, was enjoying a well earned short holiday. It was the end of June and the fortnight between the Grand Prix in Indianapolis, USA and the Grand Prix de France on the circuit of Magny Cours provided this opportunity. For Steve Warson, American racing driver extraordinaire and beloved family-friend since what seemed like forever, it was the last holiday as a bachelor, since he was finally going to marry Gabrielle Spangenberg in November, at the end of the Formula 1 season. To complete our holy trinity, Jean-Pierre, older brother of Michel, who combined his exacting job as director general of the Vaillant Company with the post of technical director of the racing team Vaillant, had taken a break from his busy schedule and joined them.

The Vaillant villa at Roquebrune sur Argens, located in the department of Alps Maritimes in the utmost southeast corner of France was the ultimate fitting place for a 'calm' intermezzo. The magnificent large villa itself offered all modern conveniences: from an half-in-half-outdoor swimming pool to a little private cinema. The surrounding hills and superb park made relaxing outside a pleasure. Only about 70 km to the northeast was Nice, 150 km to the south Marseille, Monaco a swift 100 km to the north and the Mediterranean was only an hour's drive off. There were lots of activities to choose from every day; ranging from snowboarding to sailing. All things considered, the boys tried even more than normal to make the most of each day.

Yesterday, instead of eating at the villa the boys had taken to eat at 'Les douze mois' 'The twelve months'; the local bar annex petit-restaurant in the town square. It was a two-roomed establishment. In one room was the bar and four small tables; the other room was used as 'Salle des fêtes' for marriages, funerals and the monthly meeting of different clubs in Roquebrune, it held the billiards table for the 'Billard Club de Roquebrune' and it was where the monthly meetings for the 'Union pétanque de Roquebrune' were held. On weekdays a simple dish for the day was served for the few tourists that would prefer 'Les douze mois' over the more stylish and modern restaurants in Roquebrune. The locals were more customers of the bar, in the morning to have their café and newspaper; in the evening to enjoy a glass of fine wine with friends. The three men were waited on by a pleasant young woman who had introduced herself as June. She was one of the many season-workers the region would attract during high-season and one of the reasons the boys had returned to the bar this evening. The three had been rock-climbing all day in La Vallon Sourn (The Sourn Valley) and it was around nine o'clock when they sat down at 'their' table.

After a simple, but tasty dinner the conversation came to marriages. Jean-Pierre tried to give Steve some good advice, while Steve was doing his best to get everything out of his slipping bachelorhood by commenting on and flirting with the local beauties. Although he was madly and completely in love with Gabrielle, getting married was a huge decision for someone like Steve. A decision he would wake up from soaking wet in the middle of the night. And now Jean-Pierre wanted him to talk about gift lists, rings and goodbye presents for guests! The very same things he tried to get away from by coming here! "Well, I don't know about you guys but this waitress of ours, June; have you seen her smile and those curls? Mmm... I think that shade is called autumn chestnut. And I'm not even talking about those eyes... sometimes I think I'm looking at chocolate... sweet, brown chocolate..." Steve radically changed the conversation, mostly to annoy Jean-Pierre. It worked. Jean-Pierre, being happily married for years, father of Laura and the little Jean-Michel, always had been quickly annoyed with Steve, and slightly less with Michel, when it came to their Don Juan-attitude. "Oh, you do? Well, let me tell you something mister Don Juan: sometimes I truly don't know why you would marry Gabrielle!" Steve turned pale and without another word left the table, grabbed his coat and left. Jean-Pierre closed his eyes and was already acknowledging his mistake. He commented to his brother: "Je suis le malin, n'est pas? I'm a real smart one, not?" "Well, you know Steve, he has a short fuse." Since there was only the two of them they talked French. "And getting married is a huge decision... I mean you might not remember but..." the younger brother patiently explained. "But I do remember. I'm just trying to save him from all the worries about that decision..." Jean-Pierre cut in. Michel raised one eyebrow: "Well, you know Jean-Pierre, you're doing a marvellous job! Really! Besides, what he said about June..." Jean-Pierre looked annoyed again when Michel continued: "he just said that to annoy you!" However, as always when it comes to girls, Steve is a keen observer, Michel thought. "I'll go see him," Jean-Pierre said, getting up, leaving Michel with his coffee. Thinking about his friend and his brother his mind wandered, from June; where her eyes like chocolate... to the upcoming Grand Prix at Magny Cours. Slowly he began emptying his mind, like he did when concentrating before a race. That ability had proven Michel's way to stay sane and balanced in his hectic and extreme exciting live. June found him doodling on a napkin. She addressed him in French, since they had only spoken English with 'Mister Steve', not with her or some of the locals they seemed to know: "Monsieur?" Looking up he couldn't help himself thinking that the shade of her curls really were like a chestnut in an autumn's sunrise. "Monsieur? Your friends: Mister Steve and Monsieur Jean-Pierre... they're fighting outside..." "What?" he looked in the direction she was pointing and there, through the window pane he could see Steve shaking Jean-Pierre violently while Jean-Pierre's face was in full 'I'm the director general and also really stubborn'-mode. In a moment he was up and outside. "O.K. kids, stop squabbling or it will end in tears!" he said. Both looked up and Michel couldn't help but thinking of little schoolboys on a play ground. "But he..." Steve started. "Me? You mean you..." Jean-Pierre reacted heated while Steve's hands grope Jean-Pierre's arms with renewed firmness. Michel sighed: "O.K., Steve: you love Gabrielle and Jean-Pierre knows it. He just wants you to know that you shouldn't bother about not loving her enough, because you do, we both can see that. As for Jean-Pierre: you really should know better, I always thought that you, being the more mature of us three... You disappoint me." "Oui Maman," Jean-Pierre dully answered what had always been his reaction to the famous 'you're older – act mature'-sermon from their mother. Michel was the first to laugh, soon joined by Steve and finally, only a bit reluctant by Jean-Pierre. "I'll get my coat that is if I can leave you two together alone?" without awaiting an answer he went inside again.

When he returned to their table it was cleared but for 'his' napkin. Underneath his doodling somebody had written: 'Le Mans?'. In surprise Michel was staring down at the napkin. It was indeed the circuit of 'Le Mans', but you had to be a fan to just recognize it from a simple drawing. Tapping on the window pane made him look up: "Michel! Are you coming? JP is paying: his treat!" Steve, who was still outside, called through the window. Mindlessly Michel put the napkin in his pocket, grabbed his coat and joined Steve outside, while Jean-Pierre paid June. "Is everything alright?" she asked. Jean-Pierre shrugged: "Tout est bien, all is well," he answered, "...just cold feet before marrying..." Well, that was predictable, June thought, a handsome guy like that and by what she had seen of him; rather nice too... she couldn't help watching him leave the bar to join his friend outside. Her 'Au revoir' to Jean-Pierre was slightly absent-minded.

Later that evening when Michel emptied his trouser pockets while undressing, he came across the napkin again and studied it. Who would think of a circuit when looking at a scribble like this? Michel wondered. Any normal human being would think of an island or a rather unsuccessful drawing of a tennis shoe. The handwriting was not his brother's or Steve's; beside they had been busy at that time. With his thoughts on 'the mystery of the napkin' Michel tried to sleep. Just before the sandman dropped by he suddenly leaped out of bed, moved towards his desk and wrote underneath: 'Juste; et ceci?' Good, what about this? He rolled his pen between his fingers, thinking for a moment and then wrote in French: 'This track features 15 corners, including five left ones. Lots of slow corners, taken in second or third. Yet, there are at least three curves that can be taken in the fifth at approximately 260 km/h. The circuit also contains eight straights with a width of 16, in some areas rising to 20 meters, providing some great overtaking opportunities. The two longest straights are perfect to reach an ultimate top speed. Mind the hairpin that connects them: slow down to a lousy 90 km/h.; back to second gear. Take that one wide and you're in the pit. Any idea?'

The next day the boys went snowboarding. After an eventful day of flips, jumps and tricks, in which Jean-Pierre had outdone both Michel and Steve, they entered 'Les douze mois' arguing. "But listen Jean-Pierre, you can't just claim you're the best snowboarder of us three, I mean, Michel and I, we have to be extra careful, we have to race in one of your pity cars again in five days, you know!" Steve exclaimed as they approached their table. "Uh-uh," Jean-Pierre shook his head and sat down before counting on his fingers. "Two things: first: what are you calling pity cars, huh? Second: you never had the sense of being careful before; no, you two just have to admit it: I beat you at snowboarding!" Steve also sat himself down while laughing scornfully: "If you think you're up to it, mister 'director general slash technical director', we'll challenge you to a snowboard competition tomorrow, and we won't be careful this time, right Michel?" he looked determined at Jean-Pierre, expecting his friend to back him up but there was no answer. "Michel?" He looked at his friend and found him still standing, staring down at a napkin that was left on the table by another customer. "Michel??? It's a napkin. At least it looks like one; you use it to wipe your mouth with. You probably recognize it because you've seen THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of them before. And you're staring at it because...?" Steve bent his head to take a better look at the napkin before he continued: "...Because somebody has been doodling on it?" Michel slowly sat down. "It's a circuit" he said in a low voice. And in reaction to the amazed faces of Steve and Jean-Pierre he drew his own napkin from his pocket: "Yesterday when you two were arguing outside I just mindlessly drew this..." he showed his outline of Le Mans. "And when I got back here to get my things, somebody had written 'Le Mans' underneath it. And now I find this napkin. It's a circuit and somebody is in for an interesting game. You see, I already thought up a new puzzle." He read the description of the track he wrote down last night, translating it to English for Steve's sake, adding: "Well? Do you have any ideas?" When Steve and Jean-Pierre did not answer right away he thoughtful continued: "I wonder who our adversary is." They were interrupted by a soft cough; it was June ready to take their orders.

During the meal Steve and Jean-Pierre asked for clues. Whispering Michel finally told them they had attended a race there this year. And then Steve had no problem solving the riddle: "It is Sepang, in Malaysia, isn't it?" he whispered. And when Michel nodded: "Well, in my opinion, you can take those 5th gear curves of you easily in 6th." This of course started another whispered argument, whispered to avoid any eavesdropping. It proved rather more difficult to solve the given puzzle. It was not a Formula 1 circuit. They were almost certain of that. "Maybe it was a former Formula 1 circuit?" Steve suggested over dessert (which only Steve ordered, Michel and Jean-Pierre just had coffee). "What if it's not a Formula 1 circuit? You didn't set any rules did you?" Michel shook his head at his older brother. "OH NO!" Steve exclaimed. "It could be any circuit. It could be a stage for the World Rally Championship or any obscure circuit down in... Africa or... or..." he sighed.

When June came to clear the table they still had not solved the puzzle. Michel put both napkins in his pocket and offered to pay this time. "You just want to have a go at our beautiful waitress; I recognize your 'sweep them off their feet' smile from miles off – I'm the inventor!" Steve teased. "What happened to: Oh Gabrielle, I only have eyes for you?" Michel countered. Before they could begin another argument, Jean-Pierre dragged Steve outside. Michel, a lopsided grin on his face, went to the bar. June was making small talk with a regular customer, but she was aware of everything going on in the bar. "I got stuck with the bill this time," she smiled and her brown eyes even seemed to lit up at his lame joke. He noticed they really looked like chocolate, melting hot chocolate to be more accurate, not the sweet kind, but the darker and richer kind with more than 80 chocolate solids. The 'chocolat noir'-kind that Michel had a weak spot for. She swiftly added up the bill. When she returned his change he said: "Mademoiselle June, did you see somebody near our table when we were outside the other night?" For a moment she looked uncomfortable but she did recover rather quickly: "Non monsieur, do you miss something?" Ah, that would explain the uneasiness: she was afraid that something improper had happened. He quickly reassured her: "Non, non, it's just..." Suddenly he felt like an idiot, talking about little drawings and games with her. "...it's nothing actually." He abruptly turned around with a short "À demain" (See you tomorrow). But before he went out he returned to their table, thought for a moment and then left 'his' napkin on the stained wooden surface.

It was about two o'clock in the morning when Michel finally with a brusque move closed his laptop. He had been searching the internet to name the track on the napkin, but it only got him more frustrated. There were thousands of circuits around the world. He looked around and saw the napkin lying on the floor; it must have fallen of his desk from the breath of air caused by the closing of the laptop. It had fallen slightly open and now revealed something written inside. Cautiously Michel picked it up and spread it out. The writing was in English:

'If you need them, here are two clues: 'hurry up' and '1999'.

He stared down at it for a moment and then he reopened his laptop and started a search using the keywords 'circuit' 'hurry up' and '1999'. In 0.19 seconds Google found about 8,900 hits. However, as luck would have it, the first one was the homepage of 'The Phakisa Freeway Circuit' in South Africa.


	2. The unknown adversary

_Michel Vaillant –The unknown adversary (the title is a tribute to MV comic title nr. 37: L'inconnu des 1000 pistes)_

"See, I told you, an obscure circuit in Africa!"

Steve sounded triumphantly while he dried himself off before settling back into his deckchair beside the swimming pool. It was the next day and the guys had opted to stay at home and relax around the Greek-styled pool in the morning, going to the Roquebrun-Racing-Kart club later that day.

Michel, making his way to the diving board answered Steve: "Well, it's not a Formula 1 circuit..."

"Yet" from his deckchair Jean-Pierre, eyes closed behind sunglasses, cut in.

"Yet" the confirmation came from the diving board, were Michel just finished his run and dove into the clear water.

His head came up again and he made himself comfortable, two arms on the rim of the pool before he continued the conversation: "Yet, it's hardly obscure; it has been a MotoGP circuit since its opening."

"You're claiming we're up against a TWO-wheel driver? Well, we've succeeded with two wheels lacking before ()" Steve stated.

"I'm not 'claiming' anything; I merely like to make the observation that Le Mans is a MotoGP circuit too." Michel let himself fall in the water and pushed-off the wall backwards.

"As is Sepang" Jean-Pierre commented.

Steve stood up. When Michel came up to start a length of backstroke, Steve called him, and as Michel raised his head from the water Steve yelled: "Sepang is a MotoGP circuit too!"

"No! You think so Steve?" Michel said feigning amazement. This made Steve return to his deckchair in his patented grumpy way while Michel's laughter was heard from the pool.

That night they entered 'Les douze mois' with high hopes. And they were not disappointed: on their already made table was Michel's original napkin. Both Steve and Michel made a start for it, a struggle threatened until Jean-Pierre cut in: "Steve! It's Michel's game, let him be." Michel read the message under his description, while Steve craned his neck around him to read it at the same time.

"Unbelievable! The nerve some people have!" Steve exclaimed. He was finally able to snatch the napkin from Michel's fingers, reading the English message out loud to Jean-Pierre in a sarcastic voice: "'This is hardly a challenge: Sepang, Malaysia. Hope you had a better time with mine?' Well, we'll just have to teach him a lesson guys! Who does he think he's dealing with? We're champions, I mean... let's think of the most obscure little circuit we ever laid eyes on... Yo guys! Guys?? Talk to me here!"

"We hardly get a change," was the dry comment from Jean-Pierre who was looking at his younger brother curiously. Used to being made fun of by 'those 'nice' Frenchmen', Steve did not react; instead he too turned to Michel. The object of their attention had a dreamy look in his eyes.

"Michel? Talk to me man! I know that look, you're about to run of to rise to a cha...llenge... Oh!" finally Steve's monologue came to an abrupt stop.

"Hardly a challenge?" Michel softly quoted the short message. His eyes lit up. His adversary wanted a challenge? Well, that could be arranged. He took the napkin next to his plate and with determined strokes Michel drew the lines of the circuit he knew completely by heart, the one he could ride with his eyes closed anytime: The Vaillant Circuit.

When he was finished he turned the napkin for Jean-Pierre and Steve to see and with a mischievous light in his eyes he said: "Voilà: a challenge."

During dinner they talked about the upcoming race in Magny Cours. Tomorrow would be their last day in Roquebrune. They would fly from Nice to Nevers. At Nevers Airport there would be a Vaillante with driver waiting to drive them the last 30 km to the circuit. It was not until dessert that the unknown adversary came up in conversation again. It was Jean-Pierre who mentioned him: "The flight from Nice is late at night, leaving us time to eat here at 'Les douze mois'. So you can see if our adversary is up to the challenge"

"Humpf, I think we'll have to come back next year or so, maybe by then he has figured it out," Steve let out sarcastically.

"Oh, but I intend to find out who our unknown adversary is thìs evening" Michel reacted, his voice low.

"How are you going to do that?" Steve asked him, also speaking in hushed tones. "You were too chicken to ask your waitress, remember?"

"MY waitress?" Michel arched his eyebrows: "Care to elaborate, Steve?"

With a broad smile Steve answered: "My pleasure, my pleasure... She is a highly attractive girl that we normally would be happy to bicker over." In the silence that followed he looked at Michel. It was a battle of wills and Michel lost: "I don't see your point" he stated gruffly.

"Oh, let's see..." Steve deliberately stalled, but Michel held his ground this time, although with some effort, Steve noticed. "You see, I'm happily engaged, soon to be equally happily married." Steve shot a glance at Jean-Pierre. Again silence, cut short by a demanding: "And?" from Michel.

Oh yes mister, I'm not stupid, I was your brother in crimes for too many years. I've noticed not only your smile the last couple of evenings, but also your eyes, they do lit up whenever she's at our table and when you're staring into the distance, that distance is usually the bar, or rather, the one behind it... Steve thoughts were interrupted by a growled "STEVE!!??" from his friend.

"Well, it pains my heart, but..." his tone was as if being extremely generous, he sighed: "she's yours."

"Well, I'm moved," Michel responded with a sarcastic gleam in his eyes.

"Of course I hope she'll settle for second best" Steve continued.

This led to an explosion from Michel: "Second best??? SECOND BEST? You don't believe this character, do you?" he exclaimed to Jean-Pierre. Then continuing to Steve: "Do I need to refresh your memory? Second Best! Albert Park, Sepang, San Marino, Monaco, Canada, Indianapolis..."

"Engine failure and a flat tire, mister 'make everything a track-issue'" Steve countered.

"That only covers two occasions!"

Daggers were looked across the table until Jean-Pierre tried to soothe them. "Maybe the gentlemen would like to take their arguing outside? I would not want you to take it up at this table or on the track."

Steve shoved his chair back as Jean-Pierre continued: "And Michel: It's not nice of you to talk to Steve in such a way..." he shook his finger at his younger brother.

Steve turned his head when Jean-Pierre uttered that strange warning. Michel for a moment looked like he was going to boil over, but then something in Jean-Pierre's eyes gave him away.

"Aaaah," Michel uttered and then continued much more relaxed: "And I always got off the hook by saying: "Oui Maman, je m'excuse!" The two brothers burst out in laughter, joined by Steve after the latter stated: "Pffff, I'm glad this has nothing to do with me, you always were a little pest!"

After another café, for Steve a 'café au plus et plus de lait', Michel told the two others about his plan. "I'll just sit in the car outside and wait until they close, never losing sight of our table."

"You're sure you don't have a thing for YOUR waitress? Trying to meet her after she gets off?" Steve asked.

But before they could dive into another endless debate Jean-Pierre cut in: "You planned this, didn't you? It's why you wanted to drive here in two cars, right? Well, you enjoy your napkin-watch! Steve," here his tone became compelling, "and I will go back to the villa. Just remember that I want you as fit as a fiddle in Magny Cours." Any mock-protest or further teasing Steve was thinking of was quelled by Jean-Pierre who brusquely led him outside.

Later as they drove away Steve looked at Jean-Pierre: "You surprise me."

Jean-Pierre, at the wheel of the Vaillante Goodwood, had a small smile on his face when he answered: "Well, Michel surprises me; it's only so often that you succeed in baiting him!"

To make sure he would be able to see the napkin on their table from his car, Michel had folded the napkin into a Bishop's mitre. Within fifteen minutes after reaching his Vaillante Daytona 2003, he saw June clearing their table, but she left the napkin untouched. So she did know something about the napkin-match, Michel thought.

However, the clearing of the table was about the highlight of the evening. By the time 'Les douze mois' closed Michel had more than once wondered what on earth he was doing.

Although killing time looking at June waiting on and conversing with the regulars was not that bad. He saw the last visitors leave, shouting "Au revoirs" at June, saw her closing the doors, making up the register and finally getting a coat from somewhere behind. She put out the lights; only the soft blue light from the electrical flytrap remained. A moment later she came through the door, locking it in the light of a street lamp and pulling down the wooden rolling shutter, on which in weather-beaten, elegant letters was written 'Les douze mois'.

Michel watched her starting down the road. Then suddenly he made the decision to follow her. She had not touched the napkin, so she must know something more about it. They crossed the town square. June seemed not aware of anybody behind her. She was walking leisurely, hands in the pockets of her coat, enjoying the sultry, Mediterranean night.

Suddenly she halted, so did Michel. She seemed to be staring at something some six feet to her right on the ground. Slowly she moved, stepping to her right and suddenly squatting down on what Michel now recognized as the pétanque piste. She seemed to be drawing something in the loose gravel, staring down at it when finished.

He came closer, hiding behind the 'Statue for the fallen children of Roquebrune during the revolution and the two World Wars'. She was tracing the drawing with her hand, closing her eyes but suddenly opening them wide. "No!" she exclaimed. And softer now: "No way!"

She looked down again, following the shallow imprinted drawing once more. Then he heard her whisper: "Jean-Pierre, Steve, Michel... MICHEL!"

He ducked down, for a short moment convinced he had been seen but she was not looking at him instead still staring down, whispering once more: "Michel... Vaillant!"

When she wiped out a napkin and started to write on it voraciously it hit him: 'his waitress' was 'his adversary'! He found the picture in front of him both serene and highly arousing: June squatted down, writing; only now and again stopping to check the gravel in front of her as if to confirm something. His heart started beating fast when he thought of what she could have drawn in the gravel. Finally she stood up.

"Oh yes! You just smell my burning rubber, monsieur Vaillant!" she said, making a winner's gesture with both arms, clenched fists. She looked down one more time and then walked away, a definite spring in her step.

When she had disappeared in one of the narrow streets across the town square, Michel came out from behind the white statue and went to where she had been only moments ago. He stared down at what was indeed the outline of the Vaillant-circuit. After a considerable amount of time his heart stopped making overtime and he was able to think straight again.

It was then that he realised two things: one: hers had been a driver's remark and two: it had been made in English.

() In the album: 'Rodéo sur 2 roues'


	3. A frustrating phantom

Michel 3

_A frustrating phantom (the title is a tribute to MV comic title nr. 33; La Silhouette en colère)_

Their last day in Roquebrune was filled with sailing for Michel and Jean-Pierre and with lingering on the deck, watching all the beauties on the other boats for Steve.

Steve and Jean-Pierre had been anxious to know about their adversary but Michel had not confined in them. Without knowing why he had simply stated that when the bar closed, the napkin had still been on their table. Which was not entirely untrue; when the bar had closed, for customers, the napkin had still been on their table.

He didn't understand why he was reluctant to tell them about June. He had been attracted to girls before, there was absolutely no reason to hold back; but still... it somehow seemed different and suddenly a kind of... difficult to just... talk about it, like he would normally. Somehow difficult because Steve would most certainly have a comment about it, like he would normally. Was it because she had so easily guessed his 'nobody can do this'-circuit? Was it a question of pride? Was it because she put him in his place?

He shrugged; it didn't matter any way; tonight he would confront her, no matter what Steve's comment would be. So he should stop thinking about it now and concentrate on the sailing.

He didn't want to admit to himself that he had thought the exact same thing only half an hour ago, and the half hour before that, and before that, and before...

Their last evening at 'Les douze mois' began with a surprise: another waitress and behind the bar a local guy. However, their table had been laid and on Michel's plate stood, folded in a Bishop's mitre, just like Michel had done the other night, the napkin. From the outline of the circuit, little arrows were drawn to bits of writing. "What's it saying?" Jean-Pierre was becoming mildly infected with the napkin virus too. "It describes the best way to race the circuit." Michel stated. And Steve, who, of course, had put his neck almost in an arm lock to read the napkin at the same time, commented: "Look he even knows where to take it wide and use the shoulder to slow down!" Michel pointed: "And look here: 'the rest is just straight, although you make it best if you just slide to the outside first'" They looked at each other; coming to the same conclusion: "He knows it!"; Steve voiced what Michel had thought, only with a different pronoun.

"But... but that's impossible. If anybody from here ever drove there, I would know about it." Jean-Pierre uttered. "No, our adversary has never been there, listen to this:" Michel, remembering the clues for the Phakisa Freeway circuit, had opened the napkin: "I've driven here only in my dreams: Vaillant-circuit" he read out loud. "What's that beneath it?" Steve, again dislocating his neck to see, asked. "It looks like a helmet!" he continued, answering his own question. He was right, underneath the message the shape of a helmet could be seen, an x-shaped design on it. Beside it was scribbled: 'white-on-blue saltire' "So it is a driver!" Steve sat down in his chair. "Or a mechanic, or a helmet salesman or just a huge fan." Jean-Pierre stated reasonably. He continued: "That helmet doesn't mean anything at all!"

But Michel knew better: that helmet was a clue, a clue to find a driver named June.

Unthinkable, impossible, ridicule, nonsense; these were just a fine selection of the words that came to Jean-Pierre's mind while he looked at his brother who was sipping his coffee and reading the morning paper at half past three in the afternoon. They were sitting at the table in the kitchen of La Jonquière. Jean-Pierre sighed. What never happened was happening: Michel; mister confident, mister totally in control, mister know-it-all, was unfocused and restless, lacking his typical and reliable concentration. Instead of the calm and thoughtfulness that characterized his normally gentle person he was snappish, fidgety, distracted. And Jean-Pierre had no idea what caused it.

It had been a slow process. The first one to notice had been Steve; although consumed with his forthcoming marriage on top of the normal demands of the Formula 1 season, Steve had a way of seeing through Michel. He had confronted his friend about a month and a half ago after a rally in the rally-heaven of Finland. The boys had attended it just for fun and because it was a nice alternation between the races at Hockenheim and the Hungaroring.

"It's not in your results, you know. They're just fine. But the way you drive is different." Jean-Pierre had just entered the cloakroom to grab his coat and unwillingly overheard his two drivers talking. From the direction and the sound of the voices, Steve was still in the showers while Michel was already dressing. After some watery-sounds Steve's voice became clear again: "You even got mad at Cheng during the last stage" Michel's voice had sounded defensive when answering: "Well, he did misread the road-book, didn't he!" Something in his brother's voice than had caught Jean-Pierre's attention. If you would have asked him what it was, he would not have been able to voice his feelings but there was just something, something harsh, something irritated. This was not at all strange; since Cheng's fault had cost Michel some places, but it was just so... not Michel. Steve was right. Something was different.

The sound of running water had stopped; replaced by the soft dripping of water on the floor tiles and the little cracks shoes make when you tie your laces. Jean-Pierre turned the corner and saw Steve, just clothed in a towel, hanging in the frame of the shower-entrance and Michel, his back to him tying his laces. Slowly Steve said: "I remember David doing that once causing you two to almost take a dive in a freezing lake. But then you were smiling and suggesting the Swedish vice." Michel had looked up at his friend and then he had positively growled: "This conversation is over Steve!" He had grabbed his coat, hurried passed Jean-Pierre and slammed the door.

That was over a month ago and had Michel's results been as good as ever then, now they were showing something else. It was only during testing, but there was no denying it: Michel was slacking. And Jean-Pierre wanted to know what the hell was going on. Next month there was a charity-event at Le Mans. Normally Jean-Pierre would feel completely secure because normally he could rely on his ace for this sort of thing: Michel. But now... and this morning he had received the final list of participants and one name had startled him. He had to talk to his brother. And Michel would not put his director general and technical director off with fair words like any mechanic or José or Steve. But mostly Michel would not be able to hold of his brother.

Out of the blue Jean-Pierre started: "What is it? Tell me Michel, is it the car?"

Michel was instantly aware what he was talking about. The answer was direct and true: "Non." He had looked up but was now again looking at the newspaper.

Jean-Pierre continued: "The team?" Again the answer was swift and clear: "Non! Jean-Pierre you know I..." But his older brother interrupted him: "You're not ill, I know that for sure, I had doctor Martin check you out last week." This time the reaction was a bit more emotional: "You WHAT?" But Jean-Pierre ignored his brother's raised voice and stern look; considering his position in the company and the team: when Jean-Pierre thought a driver needed to have a medical check, the driver had a medical check. He knew Michel knew, and so he just ignored the comment.

"Papa?" "Non." "Maman?" "Non!" There was disbelieve in Michel's voice and he continued demanding: "Jean-Pierre, stop this!" But that was not Jean-Pierre's intention at all: "Is it my happiness?" A short shake of the head. "Steve's happiness with Gabrielle?" A real strange look this time. "The fact that Gabrielle is pregnant?" "She is? That's so great!" For a moment Jean-Pierre could see the old Michel back and that convinced him even more to ask the next question, but careful, he told himself "Is it... Ruth Wong?" "RUTH?" "Well, the two of you were involved one day..." "ONE day, yeah, about that long. Besides it was a long, long time ago. She's the daughter of the Leader Jean-Pierre AND a nightmare." "You're sure? I'm just checking because she will be at the charity-event at Le Mans next month."

"Fine by me, besides, have you ever seen me slacking over a girl?" The light tone could have had many people fooled that this was just Michel Vaillant playfully bickering with his elder brother. But Jean-Pierre wasn't many people, he saw the exhausted and sometimes haunted look in the once so calm eyes, he had noticed the dark circles beneath them. However his answer was build upon Michel's lighter tone: "Well... yeah!"

Rolling his eyes Michel continued: "I mean slacking over a girl in the sense of: not being able to focus in something on wheels?"

Jean-Pierre's answer was as swift as Michel's had been: "Non, jamais." Returning to his paper Michel stated: "So!"

"So?" Jean-Pierre echoed in another tone. "So is it?" he continued and off Michel's questioning face: "So is it Ruth?" He was treated to an icy look and then Michel raised the paper in front of him: "Jean-Pierre, this conversation is so over." Before Jean-Pierre could react Michel heard running feet approach and lowered his paper again. It was indeed his favourite niece Laura, Jean-Pierre's daughter, who came running into the kitchen. "Ah, Laura!" Michel exclaimed. "You know your papa was just saying what a shame it was that he has not yet seen you drive that little model for the new Vaillante Talia..." this earned him a stern look from his brother, but efficiently ended not only the conversation but also Jean-Pierre's presence in the kitchen.

After an exited Laura had dragged her father outside, Michel rose from the table. He poured himself a glass of water, brought it back to the table and sat down again. He stared at the glass for a moment but left it untouched. Instead he bent his head to rest it in his hands, dropping his shoulders. Despite the confident and light sound of his voice, his heart was in a state of turmoil. During the exchange with Jean-Pierre he had voiced exactly what was keeping him wide awake at night, the fact that something; or rather someone had the strength to break his focus in a car!

He had started his search for June the day they arrived at Magny Cours. On the internet he had found out that she probably was Scottish; the Scottish flag being a white-on-blue saltire. He even checked with David Coulthard. David confirmed the colours of his flag however he had never seen a driver with that particular helmet. And the only "June" that came up in hits about Scottish drivers on Google was the month. Yet he was not discomfited easily... He had read endless lists of members of all kind of clubs; motor-, karts-, cars- even high speed skiing- and canoeing clubs had kept him company at night. Of course he had called 'Les douze mois' but they did not keep an administration of their personnel especially not of 'all' the season-workers. He even had started to call motor shops in the vicinity of Roquebrune to find out if there was any 'June' among their personnel. Finally within two months June had become an obsession. The fact that he couldn't find her anywhere was annoying him; the thought that he might never find her, was consuming him; and last but certainly not least the feelings that these thoughts stirred in him were unbelievable, unwanted and completely out of range. Not that it did him any good to acknowledge that. "Au nom de Dieu, get a grip on yourself Michel!" he exclaimed, hitting the table with his fist. Startled by and startling his mother sitting on the other end of the table.

"Michel..." the soft spoken word had an explosive effect: Michel jumped from his chair, roaring: "NON Maman, NON! No more questioning!" He balled his fists. Confused his mother said: "Mais Michel..." In brisk French Michel rattled: "I thought that I said NO! What part of that word do you people find so hard to understand?"

Immediately after he said the words he mentally slapped himself, his eyes grew wide and he growled. His mother was just staring at him, not believing what she just witnessed. Michel took two quick steps towards her and crouched next to her chair, taking her in his arms. "Oh, Maman, je m'excuse... I don't know what came over me... It's just that everybody..." Softly she interrupted him: "I overheard your conversation with Jean-Pierre... It hurts, doesn't it Michel?" For a moment he was stunned, could she suspect? No, no one could, he had a hard time believing it himself. "It hurts 'slacking' over a girl, doesn't it Michel?" And then it was more her holding him than the other way around.


	4. A girl and a bike

Michel 4

_A girl and a bike (the title is a tribute to MV comic title nr. 25; Des filles et des moteurs)_

At the end of August between the last two Formula 1 races in Europe, motor and car drivers are together on Le Mans for a fundraising event. Both the Formula 1 and the MotoGP, 125 cc and 250 cc are in Europe, so the organization is certain that the turn-out will be considerable. Because the racing season is drawing to an end (F1 only four races to go; the motor circus only five) and it's not an official gathering, teams and drivers are unashamedly shopping. This makes the charity event just a bit more interesting to drivers and teams, all to the benefit of the fundraising.

This morning the Vaillant-stall was busy getting some new drivers to test in a Vaillante. During a break; the circuit was in use by bikers only, Michel and Jean-Pierre had been talking about the test results of these drivers, sitting on the stand directly above the pit. While the two brothers talked a Leader motorbike 'rocketed' past, making conversation impossible for a really very short moment. "That's fast!" Jean-Pierre commented. "That's what Ruth thinks too!" Michel pointed at a clearly delighted Ruth, seated some thirty feet higher. "O.K. so you're on for the next tests and remember Michel..." Jean-Pierre said. "I want you to really concentrate this time!" Michel finished the sentence together with his brother. "I dream about that sentence, you know that?" he continued. "I rather have you did it instead of dream about it" Jean-Pierre said, rising to return to the Vaillante box. "They're not nice dreams, you know!" Michel shouted to his retreating brother's back. Like I care, Jean-Pierre thought. I do, however care about you Michel... and you got me worrying!

Grumpy, Michel slumped back in his seat and watched the Leader bike re-appear at the beginning of the straight, it was clearly in the inlap, slowing down to re-enter the pit. Ruth had talked to her team over the radio and had seen the not so friendly exchange between her greatest opponents. While coming down to go to her own pitbox she passed Michel. "Aaah, Michel" she said in a honeysweet tone. Michel's was more sceptical: "Ruth." "A new track record, on a Leader motorbike!" she continued, her smile deadly sweet. "Great!" his tone was rather patronising. His cocky manners annoyed Ruth beyond limits. But she kept smiling sweet, as was the taste of revenge. Ruth knew a bit about Michel's search, her spies would not misfit in any secret service. "You should see the driver Michel," her tone was still so sweet, Michel could feel his teeth ache. A bit confused he looked at the binoculars she offered. "She might surprise you," Ruth continued, her knowing smile was lost on Michel; he already had the binoculars on his eyes, searching the grid to find the biker.

And there she stood, HIS June, next to a Leader motorbike, having removed a Leader helmet, running a hand through her curls and, it seemed, joking with the guy next to her: a Leader mechanic. Without a word he handed the binoculars back to Ruth and walked away. When he reached the stairs at the far side of the stand Ruth yelled at him, so hard the people down on the grid looked up: "I'll make it up to you Michel, honey, tonight in our bed!" But Michel didn't even turn around.

Down on the grid Kathy MacRae looked up, brushed her curls from her face and shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, she saw him walk away. So Ruth is to be the lucky bride, she thought. Well rather him than me, with Ruth Wong. Then she shook her head to loose her next thought: so much rather me then her with Michel Vaillant.

The last European race at Monza was already a week ago; most of the team Vaillante had already left for the far-east, the races in China and Japan awaiting them. The night before he too would fly to China Jean-Pierre came to La Jonquière. He needed to talk to his father about Michel. Although he did not want to worry his father and especially not his mother, something had to be done. This evening with Michel already in China was an opportune moment to do that and so Jean-Pierre found his self in the living of his parental home. His father and he were opposite each other near the large fire in the hearth, his mother was further away, doing some correspondence.

While his father carefully tasted his pinot-noir, Jean-Pierre expressed his concerns: "Je ne sais pas, Papa. I don't know dad. Physically he's fine. The report from Doctor Martin a few weeks ago and again yesterday confirms it." He was silent until his father pressed him on: "But?" "But where I was concerned about his wild ways at Spa only about three weeks ago... I mean, it's almost unthinkable but it actually got to the point where I was really afraid that Michel would do something stupid in a fit of temper on a track. Who would have believed it, we're talking about Michel here! However right now I'm more concerned about his lack of emotion."

"Michel always was a quiet person, silently doing his thing when it needs to be done." Henri Vaillant commented. "Right," his eldest son took over again: "quiet, but in for action. Not... not..." he hushed, looking for words to say this, a way to make it less severe and failed. He couldn't look at his father when he whispered: "You know dad, nowadays when he gets into a car I'm just afraid that he'll do something stupid because he decides there's no use anymore..."

There was a heavy silence, broken by Henri: "He's still good, very good."

Jean-Pierre sighed: "You know he used to be sublime, he used to be the best."

His father nodded and then decided: "I'll, no we'll both come with you to China!"

Shanghai International Circuit is designed by Hermann Tilke and Peter Wahl. They have succeeded in not only developing a challenging circuit for the drivers, but also a beautiful circuit for the eye; first of all because the circuit allows a really exciting race, but also because of the architecture. The team buildings are arranged like pavilions in a lake to resemble the ancient Yuyan-Garden in Shanghai and the circuit itself has been shaped like the Chinese character 'shang', which stands for 'high' or 'above'. It was the race circuit for the new millennium and the home of the first Chinese Grand Prix.

And it had been an exciting race; with every superb high and horrifying low a team could encounter during one. On Saturday Steve had qualified second, only 0.087 seconds from Fernando Alonso's pole position. Third was Bob Cramer for Leader, fourth Michael Schumacher in his Ferrari, the other Leader, driven by Dan Hawkins was fifth, sixth was Montoya, seventh Jason Button's BAR and then came Michel; in a disappointing eighth position. At the start Michel jumped to a promising fourth place, but the Renault of Jacques Villeneuve was the real surprise; coming from ninth to third, right behind Steve. The first problems arose when the riders came up for curve 14; one of the last curves before blasting on the straight again, here they had to brake from some 330km/h in sixth to 90km/h in second gear to negotiate the sharp right hander. Steve paired with Alonso, but as none of them lifted off, they came to the corner together. Alonso inside, Steve outside... the two cars looked melted together for a moment and then Alonso lost control, spinning from the track, hitting the barriers and bouncing back onto the track, taking out his new team-mate Villeneuve. Michel was only just able to avoid a frontal crash but couldn't prevent the two Leaders overtaking him. Behind the safety car the lead of the two blue and two red cars disappeared like snow before the sun. The restart was superb for Steve, who managed to keep both Leaders behind him but disastrous for Michel who was accused of 'sleeping' by several TV commentators. Both the Ferraris and Montoya in his Williams passed him. However, through smart pitting, they got Michel in third place again, behind Steve in second and Montoya in first. After Steve pitted, Michel took his second position. And then Montoya got an engine problem. He suddenly slowed to a turtle pace and although he did return his car to the pit, his face spoke volumes when he got out. Thus, with the 'regards' of BMW, Michel was given the front. Steve established a phenomenal, sometimes rather dicey, series of over takings and became second, right behind his team-mate. And then in the last eight laps, Michel's times started to drop. Over the radio he told the team that he had lost the sixth and fifth gear and wanted to box. Jean-Pierre told him the computers did not show anything and to stay out. While his lap times kept dropping and both Steve and Cramer had overtaken him the two brothers got into a fight on the radio, resulting in Jean-Pierre finally letting Michel pit in. Nothing was found and Jean-Pierre sent him on his 'merry' way again, but the race was lost for Michel. He dropped down to eighth as he left the pitlane. Before the race was over, he was lapped by Steve, the two Leaders and both Ferraris.

In the end Steve won the race and although every victory was one he had dual feelings about it. After the winner's ceremony the team returned to the box. Steve felt angry and miserable because he knew Michel had let him win the race. When he entered the box he found Michel; already showered and changed; ready to leave. Steve took one look at Michel, taking in his appearance and walked right passed him. When Michel extended his hand and tried to congratulate him, Steve refused. "I don't need gifts Michel!" "WHAT?" Michel's hackles rose right away. Some team members looked up. Jean-Pierre laid a hand on his brother's arm: "Not here Michel." But Michel immediately pulled his arm loose and took his rage out on his brother, roaring: "Don't you tell me what to do. Not now and not in a race! You telling me to go back on that track was the wrong call and you know it!" Suddenly you could hear a pin drop. Everybody: from the chief engineer José to Patrick, who took care of the tyre warmers was too ashamed to look at either one of the family members or Steve. The first one to move was Steve. He took his helmet and left towards his own trailer. When Jean-Pierre moved to go after him, suddenly Michel grabbed his brother's arm and snarled: "There was a Vaillante on the highest step of the podium, so what do you care?!" then he stormed away. A moment Jean-Pierre closed his eyes but then he proceeded following Steve.

Henri's voice penetrated the thundering silence: "Well, after all the hard work first there is of course our gratitude for your loyalty to the team Vaillante and second you can get from the bar whatever you want before third; you all get some rest and then fourth: I'll see you all, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, tomorrow again for the training we planned here." The light tone of their former boss relieved some of the tension and even a tentative laugh was heard. After his 'speech' Henri turned and went to find his youngest son.

While the mechanics started to move, encouraged by José and the box slowly cleared out Elisabeth stood in the back. Her hand was on her mouth and she was still staring at the spot where Michel had stood, shaken by what she had just witnessed. A soft voice brought her back: "Madame Vaillant?" She turned and saw a slender girl with reddish-brown curls and brown eyes. "Excuse moi mais... is there something wrong with Michel?" the girl asked in French. Elisabeth had been in the business for years and knew the most important rule in racing: never to talk to strangers about team business. "Je m'excuse mais I can not provide any information to you, you should see our press-officer..." she started but the girl interrupted: "I know you don't know me, but I'm not a reporter. It's just..." and then off Elisabeth's face she extended her hand: "My name is Kathy MacRae," they shook hands, "I ride a motorbike. I saw Michel ride today and..." Elisabeth noticed that the girl's face became concerned upon continuing, you could even say scared, she thought.

Softly the girl continued: "I know it's not my place to ask but please: is Michel alright?" Still Elisabeth couldn't tell her anything so she simply looked at the girl whose expression altered from genuine concern to a harder, defensive expression when she said: "Maybe it's just a lovers' tiff with Ruth? About the marriage? Non?" Somehow it didn't surprise Elisabeth that her eyes were neither hungry nor inquisitive, like a journalist's would be. On the contrary: the young woman had slightly turned and was avoiding any eye contact. With authority Elisabeth answered: "Ruth!? They are no lovers! And it is Steve who's going to marry, not Michel." The quick turn of the head and wide eyes were not lost on Elisabeth. "Not?!"

Suddenly brown eyes darkened to a dangerous near-black and in an authentic rich Scottish accent came: "Well, that two-timing, fork-tongued serpent!" followed by an "Oh!" as if she had a revelation. Silence, then a whisper still in English: "My test! How... Maybe..." In a flash she saw Michel again, walking away from Ruth when she had glanced up from the grid in Le Mans. That was when Ruth had said... But would Ruth Wong be interested in hurting her? Or was there another who Ruth wanted to get back at... Another... "Oh!" escaped her lips again before she started walking away. Then suddenly, as if she remembered good manners, she turned back to offer Elisabeth her hand. In French again she said "It's been nice to have met you Madame Vaillant, quiet clarifying actually." The girl's actions provoked tenderness in Elisabeth. And her voice was far less cold when she answered: "It was nice to meet you too, Miss MacRae," and then acting on a mother's instinct, she added: "If there is anything I can do for you?"

The eyes were a warm brown again when Kathy softly answered: "I understand that you can't give any information about... Michel to a stranger." There had only been the slightest hesitation before uttering the name. And then suddenly the girl's face lit up: "But you could probably give him some information!" Relieve was prominent in her voice when she said: "Ah, Madame Vaillant please tell him I have no intention of driving for Leader. Now, even less then ever. It was just a stupid bet between me and one of her mechanics, not that she ever knew that!" and it was a smiling Kathy MacRae that left the Vaillantbox.


	5. One girl and two motor teams

Michel 5

_One girl and two motor-teams (the title is (again) a tribute to MV comic title nr. 25; Des filles et des moteurs)_

When Steve and Jean-Pierre re-entered the box some twenty minutes later, they found Elisabeth waiting for them, a video tape in her hand. "Mes garçons, I want to show you something..." she told them. "This security-tape shows a conversation between me and a motorbike driver. I was wondering if you two know her." She put the tape in a VCR and on the screen appeared a black and white image of Kathy and Elisabeth talking. She stopped the tape at a clear shot of Kathy's face. "She looks vaguely familiar, Madame Vaillant, but you should know, the minute I asked Gabrielle to marry me, I forgot all other women in the world; well except for you of course..." "You're an incorrigible flatterer garçon!" "I know her..." Jean-Pierre said thoughtfully, "It's that... waitress, n'est pas? It's... it's... what's her name..." At that moment Michel, together with his father joined them. One glance at the screen and Michel inhaled sharply: "June?" "Yeah! That's it. Does she drive?" Jean-Pierre asked turning to look at him. Michel tore his eyes from the screen and stated bitterly "For Leader!"

But José, who was just passing by, overheard him and calmly stated, after looking at the face on the screen: "Non, c'est Kathy MacRae, she rides a bike for Yamaha, does it pretty well actually; going to ride there for at least two more years, I understand." Two astounded faces turned to him. Simultaneously Jean-Pierre and Michel started questioning him: "She drives?" Jean-Pierre repeated while Michel uttered: "Yamaha? But I saw..." Both were drowned by Steve's laughter: "June? 'Les douze mois'-June? Ha! You two thought that June was her real name? Every waitress there is called after the month they work there, the place is called 'The twelve months' for crying out loud!" and as in an after thought he smirked: "And I'm the American here!"

At this point Elisabeth intervened. She turned off the TV and looked at Henri, Jean-Pierre and José: "You three must be dying to analyse the data of this race, you know, to be all 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed', tomorrow at the training? And Steve," she continued, to the younger man, "you must be dying to ehm..." "Go party!" Steve cut in. "Ah, oui, that was what I was looking for," Elisabeth presented them with one of her sweetest smiles. After a short moment, the four men started to move but then Michel cleared his throat: "Non, please wait. First I have to apologize for my behaviour earlier. I was completely out of line." He looked at the faces of the people that were the most important in his life and knew he had hurt them bad. "I'm... I'm sorry. There's no excuse..." he came to a stop, not knowing what more to say.

Steve was the first to answer, he slapped his friend on the back and said: "Don't worry: I'll just expect apologetic coffee and donuts tomorrow morning at about half past nine in bed!" This broke the tension. José and Michel shook hands and next the two brothers hugged. Henri looked on and nodded, he had succeeded in at least talking some sense back into his youngest son. Finally Michel wanted to hug his mother but she held him off and said: "Non, Michel, tu sais que..." and as she started her familiar 'it was not nice of you to talk that way'-sermon, the other four men made themselves scarce. When his mother finished her sermon, Michel started his usual: "Maman, je m'excuse..." but he was cut short by his mother: "Ils sont parti? They're gone?" "Oui." "Bien." She looked at her youngest son who just stood there, looking at the black TV screen and rubbing his hands through his short brown hair, shaking his head as if to rid it from the thoughts that flew through his mind.

June. She was more challenging than anyone he'd ever met. She had just broken through all his defences. June. She made him fall, hard and complete. June or... Kathy. She was sweeter and softer then any girl he knew. She made him feel like he should protect her. He mentally shrugged: Yeah, I would only manage to make a fool of myself. She would probably laugh in my face. I don't even know her! But then I don't know anybody who got under my skin like that. And not only under my skin but in my mind and into my dreams. Nobody who causes such a lack of concentration... Nobody who leaves me feeling this cold, empty and... alone. He shrugged again and turned to leave.

"She asked how you were." At those soft-spoken words Michel jerked his head back and looked at his mother: "Maman..." His voice was hurt and deep. She could hear sleepless nights, emotional exhaustion and a plea for information in that one word.

"She told me her name was Kathy MacRae and that she rides a bike." He was hanging on her lips like he had been in a desert and she was the first well he found. "She also told me to tell you that she will not join team Leader; she said there was a bet between her and one of Ruth's mechanics, without Ruth knowing anything about it!" He remained silent, but his eyes were lighter.

"Yet," his mother continued in a now stern voice: "she was under the impression that you and Ruth are lovers."

His thoughts on definitely another girl than Ruth Wong, Michel answered absent-mindedly: "Were mother as in the past, past tense."

"Are Michel. Miss MacRae definitely used the present tense!" He stared at her, his expression blank at first but then suddenly bright eyes darkened, became more grey and hard as steel. "Ruth! Elle est un serpent trompant avec une langue fourchu!" He angrily turned to leave and was surprised to hear the light sound of his mother's laughter. He turned back and looked at her questioning. "Ah, Michel, it's just that I heard Ruth referred to in that exact same phrase earlier today, although then it was in English with a rich Scottish accent!"

His eyes grew large and she hugged him, whispering in his ear: "She watched you ride today Michel! I know what Steve says: you don't freeze, don't drink, don't smoke, don't sleep... But Michel: don't forget to live mon fils!" After that she kissed his astounded face and walked away.

The next morning as he entered their box, Jean-Pierre heard somebody whistling. When he walked around both Vaillantes F1 2005 he came across Michel who was squatted down in front of his car, dreamingly whistling. "Bonjour, tu es matinal! Good morning, you're early!" His younger brother stopped whistling: "Well, I wanted to take an early morning stroll, just checking the circuit, you know." Michel's eyes didn't leave his car. Then he started humming happily, grabbed a cleaning rag from somewhere and started polishing his car! No, I don't know, Jean-Pierre thought, confused by his brother's behaviour and asked: "And?" For a moment Michel looked at him, a pensive look on his face and then he slowly said: "You know...We're lucky... It's still there!" Totally ignoring the strange look from Jean-Pierre, he returned to the task he set himself, humming again!

Michel's had been a slightly twisted version of the truth. After a short night; most of it spent surfing the internet where he found a considerable amount of information on a motor driver named Kathy MacRae; he had been strolling, first to Steve's trailer with a thermos cup of coffee and two donuts, which he had left silently besides a still sleeping Steve; then he had strolled to the Honda box, bringing more coffee and croissants, to find somebody to talk 'motorbikes and their drivers' with. However, in the mean time he had thrown a glance at the track so the information he just provided his brother with was accurate, at least for the piece of black in front of the pits.

At Honda he was told that indeed yesterday some Honda motorbike drivers had been watching the race. The last MotoGP-race had been at the Motegi-circuit in Japan. So it was just a little hop over before they went on to Qatar for the next race. And indeed there had been a befriended Yamaha driver. As luck would have it this particular engineer was the boyfriend of the only Honda female motor driver, who in turn was the friend of the before mentioned Yamaha driver. But what really gave Michel an excuse to whistle and hum was that this very same engineer was planning on having lunch with his girlfriend and her friend. When they had arrived at that point in their conversation, Michel had grabbed one of the napkins he had used to bring the croissants in and started drawing.

By the time the setting sun cast long shadows across the track Jean-Pierre started to recognize the grumpy Michel again. Only it was by fits and starts: Michel's bad moods seemed intensified when suddenly he would fall silent, staring at the sun, or the track, or his car. In between Jean-Pierre tried to have an intelligent conversation with him about the reason for this extra test: a new adjustment to the suspension secretly tested as a foretaste to the F1 Vaillante 2010.

Where was she? Why didn't she give him any sign of life? She wouldn't reject a challenge now would she? And she wouldn't have a hard time figuring out who drew the circuit and she had been here yesterday, then why...? Michel's thoughts were racing around on a track of their own; starting and finishing at the same point over and over again. Suddenly he was aware of Jean-Pierre walking away from him. "Jean-Pierre?" His brother turned. "Did I miss something here?" Michel made a gesture between them. Jean-Pierre couldn't help but laugh even with the risk of provoking an outburst. "You mean you missed the whole part about me being grateful for your cooperation and suggesting calling it a day?" Michel's comical expression made him laugh louder. "Well... it certainly looks like I did!" with that Michel jumped up and started walking out the front box door. Jean-Pierre shook his head, admitting that his brother's emotions and actions were totally unreliable.

Michel went to find the Honda engineer, but his supply of luck for the day had run out: the Honda box was closed. It was times like these that made him wish he liked liquor like Steve did but instead of drinking he changed out of his driving overall into sweats and ran around the circuit until he was even more exhausted.

The next day another testing sessions was planned, the last one before joining the rest of the teams in Japan. As 'her men' were occupied with cars and engines, Madame Vaillant occupied herself with more social events, like having nice company over for an afternoon tea.

This was why at half past two in the afternoon Kathy MacRae was waiting for her courteous hostess in the restaurant of the Vaillant motor home. She was looking out of the huge windows, overseeing the pit lane and grid, unconsciously blowing on the window shield and drawing for the umpteenth time the circuit from the last napkin by heart. Suddenly she felt herself floating through the curves and finally she recognized the circuit: it was Losail in Qatar, the very circuit she would be tearing around the next day! How was it that she hadn't recognized it before? Maybe it had something to do with a vision of electrifying eyes that somehow popped up every time she thought about the darned circuit? "Michel Vaillant! You just wait until I get my fingers on you!" she exclaimed.

Michel, coming downstairs to grab a cup of coffee before preparing another test was slightly startled by hearing somebody in the restaurant making that exclamation. Cautiously he bent his head down to peek into the restaurant and see who he had offended so to make them utter this threat. He was mesmerized by the picture of HIS Ju... Kathy, having drawn (once more) HIS circuit and exclaiming HIS name in HIS motor home.

Unknown to them both somebody else had overheard Kathy: Patrick, one of the team members was looking at the woman in a Yamaha jacket and this combined with her exclamation made him decide to call security. So a moment later the restaurant was invaded by two broad-shouldered security guards, Jean-Pierre, his mother and Patrick. They rudely disturbed Kathy's and Michel's daydreaming. Patrick pointed at Kathy: "This is the woman I was talking about". "Excuse me miss, do you have a reason for being here?" the first security guard asked Kathy. "It's alright; I invited Miss MacRae here this afternoon." Elisabeth told them. Above them, on the stairs Michel found one surprise following the other, HIS mother inviting HIS Kathy? Things just were getting better and better. Downstairs Jean-Pierre was explaining to Patrick that: "As we don't ride motorbikes in the MotoGP it's alright from a competitive point of view too Patrick." But then, feeling cornered, Patrick claimed that Kathy wanted 'to do something to Michel'! "You do??" Jean-Pierre asked and Kathy adoringly flushed. At least that's what Michel thought. Patrick continued: "I overheard her! She said: 'Michel Vaillant! You just wait until I get my fingers on you!'" Now everybody was staring at Kathy who turned a more crimson shade of red, when calm voice came from upstairs: "Well, that would be my fault Patrick. I put cold coffee in Miss MacRae's water bottle when we were at Le Mans, the other month." Everybody was now staring at Michel who had come down the stairs. "Yes, I know, I know, rather childish..." he continued while approaching, not facing anybody, just looking at Kathy with eyes that almost radiated light.

"Well," Jean-Pierre cleared his throat, "solved! Patrick thank you for your concern, we do appreciate your loyalty. Guys," he turned to the guards: "thanks for your swift reaction." He nodded his head politely at the two ladies: "Maman, Miss MacRae," before turning to his brother and pointing: "And I want you to do a flying lap this time!" He turned, expecting his brother to follow him. Yet, Michel didn't follow. He was occupied staring into dark brown eyes. Jean-Pierre, not getting any clever remark, turned and stressing the word, he said: "Michel?" No reaction what so ever, so he raised his voice: "MICHEL!" "WHAT?" Michel was rudely awoken from his lovely view. Jean-Pierre ordered: "Flying. Lap. NOW!" He put as much authority in his voice as possible, since regardless of yesterday's testing, Michel has been such a pain lately, making all kinds of excuses not to test or train.

But this time he didn't have to worry. Michel followed him like a little puppy, distracted, but obedient. Then just before Michel started down the stairs to the box, he looked back to find her eyes still on him. "It's just one lap you know, it won't take that long..." there was a silent plea in his eyes for her not to leave before he got back. Kathy nodded. She knew and she wouldn't. He smiled and turned when she called him: "Michel!" He turned back in a flash, his heart missing a beat just from hearing her saying his name again. "Cold coffee? Very immature..." But her eyes conveyed the real message: thanks for coming to my rescue. He grinned, nodded, took two steps down, turned once more and caught her eyes saying: "Anytime... Oh, and Kathy?" No need to call her name dude, she was already looking at you, yeah, duh! "Circuit too difficult?"

Her eyes narrowed and she completely forgot Elisabeth's presence when she started: "Michel Vaillant! You..." With his trademark lopsided grin back on his face he interrupted her, putting a finger on his lips: "Shhhh, concentration you know: Flying. Lap." Then from downstairs, as if on cue, came a frustrated holler: "MICHEL!"

See? Michel gestured and answered Jean-Pierre: "Yeah, yeah, hold your horses, I already burned some rubber here!" and after one sweet smile to her Michel finally descended.

"Michel Vaillant!" Kathy muttered, her Scottish accent prominently present: "You just wait till I get my..." she suddenly remembered his mother and apologized instantly: "Oh Madame Vaillant, je m'excuse... je ne sais pas que..."

"There is no need to apologize my dear. Vaillant-men, they love to think they're unbeatable. We women however know better, n'est pas?" she smiled and added: "You'll have a better view on the monitor downstairs in the box."

When the two women arrived downstairs, Michel was already on the circuit, doing his outlap. Jean-Pierre walked passed on his way to the wall while talking to José. Elisabeth interrupted them: "Jean-Pierre?" "Oui Maman?" "Jean-Pierre, make sure he knows she's watching." Not understanding her request Jean-Pierre asked: "Maman?" "Jean-Pierre, sometimes it's the women in this family who know what makes a man drive on the limit." Jean-Pierre smiled and nodded: "Oui Maman."

Kathy didn't hear any part of the exchange between mother and son; she was staring down at a napkin that Patrick had given her. On it was one line: 'Maybe this one is more up your sleeve?' accompanied by the outline of a circuit. And not just any circuit, no THIS circuit, the very one she was standing on right now! Fuming she approached Patrick: "Excuse me, what's Michel's pit board sign?" "eh... V1" Patrick replied abashed by her thundering eyes. "Madame Vaillant, please excuse me for a minute, I'll be right back" with that Kathy took an empty pit board from the box and walked towards the wall with it.

When Michel crossed the starting line he saw his team's pit board reading: FL LAP GO! He heard his brother on the radio: "Michel, flying lap; Maman and Kathy are watching... just so you know." But that information was rather superfluous because a bit further a brown head was holding out a pit board on the wall that read: V1 LOSAIL MGP.

And then Michel did a lap that had his signature all over it.

Oh yeah, Michel Vaillant was back!

I really hoped you liked it. Please leave a feedback note, if only to let me know you read it.

The new story is in progress. One chapter finished. At this moment I'm visiting family in Africa, I'll be back mid-October 2004. Greetings from Holland everyone!


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